


Feels Like This Could Be Forever Tonight

by roughvoiced



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughvoiced/pseuds/roughvoiced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn’t sure he understands how you can suddenly fall out of love with someone you’ve been dating for two and a half years, especially when you’ve been in love for most of them. But then again, Liam always has been an exception to the rule. He guesses this is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like This Could Be Forever Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sat in my google docs for like, a year now, unfinished and unloved so I figured I may as well finish it off while I'm trying to get my shit together and finish my actual fics.

_Unforgettable together, held the whole world in our hands_

_Unexplainable, a love that only we could understand_

_I know there’s nothing I can do to change it_

_But is there something that can be negotiated?_

_My heart’s already breaking, baby, go on twist the knife_

 

The air in Liam’s neighbourhood smells funny. Harry always comments on it whenever he’s here. Kind of like stale grass clippings which he’s pretty sure aren’t even a thing but if they were they would smell like Liam’s neighbourhood.

The whole estate is kind of creepy on a night time too, because more than half of the streets lights dotted along the side of the pavements haven’t worked for like, three years now so Harry has to rely on the blue glow coming from the clock on the dashboard to see anything. Two forty six, it says. It’s wrong though, by an hour, because Robin still hasn’t figured out how to change the time on it, even though he’s had the shitty old Honda for as long as Harry can remember; so for six months of the year it’s an hour out until the clocks go forward again. He’s gotten used to it now.

The massive Willow tree in Liam’s front garden still hangs low against the ground, the leaves of it tickling the grass every few seconds as the wind blows through from the west, the sound of it whistling through the gaps in the car doors and blowing a slight breeze against Harry’s skin. The moonlight barely makes it through the branches, tiny slivers of it falling through the windscreen onto Harry’s arms where they grip the steering wheel.

If he leans forward a little bit he can see Karen through the big bay window, wrapped up in her dressing gown; the one Harry helped Liam pick out for Mother’s Day last year, feet pulled up onto the sofa beside her. The TV is on, casting dim shadows over her face but she isn’t paying any mind to it. She’s reading something, a magazine probably, but Harry can’t make out which one from this distance. Maybe Gardening Weekly or that knitting one she’s subscribed to. She likes those.

Harry shouldn’t be here. He knows that. Not at all probably but especially not at this time. It’s been almost two whole weeks since he last saw Liam; the day after his eighteenth to be precise, the day after they’d had way too many fruity alcopops down at that new club on the highstreet and Liam’s cheeks had been pink and flush all night as he’d clung to Harry like a newborn koala. Something about school work and commitment, is what Liam’d said, other stuff too, all the general bullshit you spew to someone when you don’t want to be with them anymore but you can’t think of a good reason why.

Harry hadn’t bothered arguing at the time, had just nodded and let Liam give him a sympathetic shoulder pat before he climbed out of the car, only looking back to offer Harry a limp wave when he reached the front door. He hadn’t waved back.

Harry isn’t sure he understands how you can suddenly fall out of love with someone you’ve been dating for two and a half years, especially when you’ve been in love for most of them. But then again, Liam always has been an exception to the rule. He guesses this is no different.

There’s one of Liam’s mixes playing low in the CD player, probably the one he made for their road trip two summers ago, the one they went on just after they’d become official. They’d spent a long weekend up at some lake Anne had recommended, borrowed a tent from one of Liam’s neighbours and everything. It’d been nice, really nice. One of the hottest summers on record, lots of beer and a little bit of sex, all fumbling and clumsy and laughter.

Harry had been planning on taking him there again this year.

It’s after 3 when he finally works up the courage to get out of the car, letting the door fall shut quietly rather than slamming it behind him. He’d much sooner explain to Robin that someone was stupid enough to steal his shitty car than give Liam any indication that he’s here.

The glow from the telly has stopped shining onto the wall in the living room when Harry peers in a final time, but he can still see that the hallway is lit up orange with the light falling out from the kitchen, has stayed over enough times to know that Karen will be making herself a brew before she finally locks up and goes to bed.

He’s quiet when he knocks on the door, tries to convince himself that if no one answers he can leave and pretend like this never happened, like he wasn’t so desperate to see the love of his life again that he’d stolen his own step dad's car to come and visit him at arse o’clock in the morning.

It doesn’t feel pretend when Karen answers the door.

She looks a little shocked to see him but she’s doesn’t comment on it. “Hi, love,” she says softly, voice low because of the hour. It seems unnecessary, though, because Harry can hear Geoff snoring all the way down here and the both of them know that Liam is a deep sleeper anyway.

“Hey, Mrs P,” Harry smiles and almost lifts his hand to give her a wave before he thinks better of it. “Is Liam home?” he asks, like it isn’t after three am and the possibility that Liam would be anywhere but here is a plausible one, but Karen nods nonetheless and steps to the side a little to open the door wider for Harry to step inside.

He’s always liked Liam’s house. It’s a lot bigger than Harry’s, posher too. All laminate floors and high ceilings and extravagant paintings and always tidy like a show home but in a way that, somehow, still looks lived in. There are no tiny people in Liam’s family, unlike Harry’s, so the floors are never cluttered with toys and bits of food and there are never Crayola coloured hand prints smeared down white walls, bits of crisp smushed into carpet or stuffed between couch cushions. It’s nice. _Mature_.

Even in the dark of the night he can still make out faces on the photographs that line the walls. Most of them are of Liam and his sisters growing up; some of them at their grandma's cabin near the forest and at the beach, some of them at Anne and Des’ wedding last year. There are some of Karen and Geoff, too; with the kids, with friends, with other family members and, if Harry tried, he could probably explain each photo in detail, has made Liam go through the entire album with him on more than one occasion, the one that’s hard bound and stuffed to the brim with old polaroids and print outs and kept down the side of the sofa in the living room.

There’s a few though, right beside the doorway to the kitchen, that catch Harry’s eye.

They’re of Harry and Liam, together. One of them at prom, all dressed up to the nines in their finest suits as they’d waited for the Limo that never came, sky darkening by the minute as the evening wore on. One of them on their road trip at the lake, naked from the waist up, sweaty and pressed together from hip to shoulder as they’d gotten a nice old couple to take the photo for them, Liam’s hand tucked safely around Harry’s waist, Harry’s arms slung around his neck as they’d grinned into the lens, summer sun beating down on them.

There’s a few others too, none of them overly special, but it’s the last one that kind of takes Harry by surprise. He’s almost certain sure it wasn’t there last time he was here, that the space was empty or filled with something else, because he’s willing to be his life on the fact that he’s never even seen this picture before in his life.

He knows exactly when it was taken, though, remembers that day like it was only yesterday.

It’d been a Thursday, if he remembers right, sometime in mid-August during the summer right after they’d left school. They’d been at the park down the lane, him and Liam and Ruth. Liam had been distracted at the time, worrying about this and that, about where they were going to college and how they’d cope away from each other, without seeing each other for hours and hours each day like at school. He’d been jittery and quiet and Harry had hated seeing him that way so he’d taken him behind a tree somewhere and kissed him silly. Kissed his lips and his cheeks and his eyes and every inch of skin he could reach, kissed him until they we’re both breathless and giggly and Liam’s eyes had been squinted so much from laughing that Harry was certain he couldn’t even see.

Ruth must have taken the photo not long after, the two of them walking in front, hands clasped between tightly them, oblivious to the world around them.

It definitely wasn’t there last time.

He’s quiet as he heads upstairs, socked feet padding softly against each step as he goes, groaning low in this throat as he steps over the creaky fifth one like he does every time he’s here, jeans tight around his thighs as he stretches.

Liam’s room in the second on the left, right next to the giant bathroom; the one where Harry had given his first ever handjob right before Liam had dropped to his knees and sucked Harry off right there with his back pressed against the sink.

Moonlight floods the hallway when he snicks the door to Liam’s bedroom open, spilling in from the window opposite him, curtains left wide open as always. Harry always used to complain about it when he stayed over, complained about the way they sunlight would spill in at some ungodly hour every morning, far too early for anyone to even contemplate being awake but then Liam would just pull the covers up over both their heads and kiss him, all warm and sleepy and sated, until Harry couldn’t even remember why he was annoyed in the first place.

He slips in through the little gap, closing the door quietly behind him. Liam shuffles a little in his sleep, turning his body over so that he’s facing Harry now, duvet tangled between his legs. There’s one of Harry’s old t-shirts stretched across his torso, chest rising and falling steadily with every breath he takes and Harry can’t help the way his heart gets lodged in his throat a little when he takes in the sight of him, face soft and innocent, hair flat to his forehead the way it always is when he’s slept with his face pressed into the pillow.

The carpet is warm under his feet as he shuffles towards the bed, eyes flitting briefly over to the desk in the corner when the light catches his eye. Liam’s laptop is open, screensaver flitting around the screen lazily, text books and loose sheets littering the empty spaces around it. There’s a huge cork board hanging primly above the desk, bits of paper and timetables and photographs pinned to in with drawing pins, a big empty space in the bottom left hand corner where there used to be some photo booth strips of the two of them from a college party last year. Harry doesn’t want to think about where they are now.

He’s as silent as he can be as he shucks off his jeans, folding them in half at the waist band before he throws them over the back of the chair in the corner, slipping his socks off before tossing them in the same direction.

Liam’s eyelashes flutter softly against his cheeks as Harry slips in beside him, breath hitching quietly in the back of his throat before he shuffles closer to Harry instinctively, fingers fluttering against his chest before he fists his hand into his shirt.

There’s a brief second where Harry thinks that maybe he won’t wake up, that maybe he can stay here for a few hours without Liam even realising and then slip out in the morning and pretend none of this ever happened, but then Liam’s eyes are flicking open and he’s asking, “What’re you doing here?” in a deep, sleep gravelled voice and suddenly all of Harry’s courage falls out of his arse.

“Um, hi,” he says, because, to his horror, that’s all his brain is offering him right now.

“Thought I dumped you?” Liam asks and he’s waking up fully now, mouth widening around a yawn as he shuffles away from Harry a little but stays close enough that their toes are still touching. “Did you wake my mum up?”

Harry shakes his head. “Wouldn’t ever,” he says seriously. “I checked she was still up first.”

“So now you’re spying on my mum, huh?” Liam scoffs but when Harry looks up at him there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes for the first time in ages and god, Harry is so in love that it hurts.

“Something like that,” he smirks and Liam laughs.

They’re quiet then for a few moments, the static silence of the night time filling their ears as their eyes start to adjust to the darkness a little and Harry starts to see the deep purple bags under Liam’s eyes and the way it’s only been two weeks but he’s already looking a little thinner, the skin of his cheeks a tiny bit hollower than they were the last time they were in this position and, if it was anyone other than Harry they probably wouldn’t even notice the subtle little changes but this is Liam, _Harry’s_ Liam and Harry thinks he could probably still paint Liam’s face from memory if he hadn’t seen him in a decade.

“I miss you,” Harry says quietly, his voice almost disappearing into the blackness, so quiet that he isn’t sure Liam’s even heard him but then warm palms are coming up to rest of the smooth skin of his hips where his shirt has ridden up a little and he can feel Liam’s breath, steady and hot as it falls out against Harry’s top lip but he doesn’t say anything so Harry keeps talking because, if, after all this, Liam doesn’t want him back, he needs to know that at least he tried.

“I miss your hands,” he starts and waits for Liam to look up at him before he keeps going. “I miss your mouth and your lips and I miss kissing you. I miss waking up to you and falling asleep beside you and I even miss the way you always leave the cap off your toothpaste when you brush your teeth. I miss the way that you always make my mum blush when you compliment her and the way that you are with Gemma and I miss how you always fall asleep on the sofa when we watch telly and the fires on and how you always beat me at Scrabble and I miss how cold your hands always get when you cook and how you like to warm them up on the back of my neck just to annoy me and I miss being able to get back at you by warming my toes up on your legs when you’re asleep. I miss the way you always get that soft smile on your face when you’re on the phone to your sisters and I miss the way you sing your stupid R&B songs in the shower because honestly, I’d listen to nothing but Drake for the rest of my life if it meant I got to listen to it with you.”

Liam’s quiet then and Harry’s scared he’s messed it all up, is about to say something but then Liam is laughing, loud in the early morning blackness and his lips are warm and wet when he presses them against Harry’s, pulling him in by the hem of his shirt and holding him close, kissing him until they’re both breathless and grinning at each other in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispers against his lips. “I’m sorry and I love you and I was stupid, please forgive me,” He’s rushing out and Harry can see the way his eyes are glistening wet where the moon lights up the side of his face, his thumb rubbing shallow circles over the skin of Harry’s hip.

“You’re such a dick,” Harry laughs and kisses him again, just to feel the press of Liam’s lips beneath his own, the solid warmth of him beneath his fingertips like he can’t believe he’s real. “We’re good now, right?” he asks and Liam nods, presses his forehead against Harry’s own.

“I can’t believe you came over here at this time of night,” he says.

Harry smiles. “Sorry for waking you up,” he whispers and Liam grins.

“It’s okay,” he nods and slips his thigh between Harry’s. “Sleep now, though. We can talk about it properly in the morning.” he yawns.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, and pulls Liam in closer so that they’re touching all over, their shoulders and their arms and their stomachs and their legs, Harry’s cold toes pressed against Liam’s warm ones. “Sleep.” he says, and so they do.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://larrytrash.tumblr.com/) if you want.


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